


Time Lords Have Perfect Balance (Most of the Time)

by hellostarlight20



Series: Unnamed Nine/Rose smutty fun [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mostly smutty fun, Prompt Fic, Romance, loose sequal, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has a slight inner ear infection and his balance in affected. In fun sexy ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Lords Have Perfect Balance (Most of the Time)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt. 9 or10/ Rose. One of them has their inner ear affected for some reason ( or something else that makes them wobbly) sexy times ensue anyway. Or basically any awkward sexy time.— whatwecanfic
> 
> Loose sequel to (This Probably Wasn’t) How it Was Supposed to Be also for WhatWeCanFic. It seemed appropriate! NSFW

Rose stared. Hard.

“No, no, you’re missing the _z_ axis. You’ve got _y_ and _x_ , but you’re only thinking two-dimensionally. You haven’t got round to figuring out _z_. Z as in zebra or zag or zig, zealous Zanzibar. Or zero or zone. You’ve got to be in the zone to figure out the _z_ axis.”

Well, he certainly sounded like the Doctor. In a science-rambling sort of way if not in an actual tone sort of way. Rambling Doctor super impressed by some scientific whats-it was easy enough to spot.

Rambling Doctor obsessed with z words as if he invented them who currently weaved toward her like he’d just come from an all-night stag party was not something she saw every day. Or ever.

She turned her stare to Jack who was trailing beside him, arms out as if to spot him on a balance beam. And doing a piss poor job of it, too, if the weaving were any indication. Rose narrowed her eyes and turned the full-force of her Jackie-Glare onto Jack.

Jack had the good grace to flinch. And blush. Which may have been a first in Jack Harkness’s life. She should be proud of that.

She was even more worried now.

“Course you lot are missing a lot of dimensions, still using the Euclidean plane and Cartesian system, like the _t_ axis…Rose!” When he saw her, the Doctor interrupted himself and stumbled on legs that looked more liked wet noodles than Superior Biology Time Lord Legs.

But his smile was definitely the Doctor’s. No, she thought and caught him round the waist when he lurched against her. His hands splayed along her back and pulled her close. This was the Doctor Smile she saw when they were alone.

It was soft and intimate and made her heart flip in her chest in a rush of warmth. It also made her clench in sheer unadulterated want.

Course, that happened a lot around the Doctor.

“Rose,” Jack said in a rush. “I don’t know what happened. I swear. One minute he was fine, the next…not so much.”

Rose glared at her friend again. “And the award for biggest understatement of the year goes to Jack Harkness,” she muttered.

“He just started going on about three-dimensional axis and babbling about trans-dimensional….er, anyway.” Jack ran a hand through his once-impeccable hair. “Never mind. The point is,” he added somewhat defensively, “he was fine one minute then this babbling—” He waved his hand up and down to indicate the Doctor’s clearly altered and indescribable state. “—the next!”

Rose knew what the trans-dimensional axis was the Doctor had apparently been babbling about. He often spoke science-geek to her in bed. Explaining this theory or that fact or whatever had caught his fancy that day using her body as his chalkboard as he kissed his the applicable parts of her skin and teased her to orgasm.

She was not, absolutely _not_ , going to tell Jack that, however. Ever. In any dimension. _Ev-er._

“My Rose,” the Doctor murmured against her hair and pulled her even closer. One large hand moved to cup her bum, a very public display of affection that made her squeak. “My beautiful, precious trans-dimensional Rose.”

He lifted his head and glared at Jack. _“My Rose,”_ he repeated fiercely. So saying, he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and breathed deeply, tongue tasting the hollow of her shoulder.

“Yes, your Rose,” she soothed and pulled back just enough to cup his cheek.

His blue eyes were sharp, not bleary and unfocused as she’d expect if he’d been drunk. Not that she knew what he looked like drunk or that she’d ever seen him drunk. But if there was anything she’d learned traveling with the Doctor it was that there was a first time for everything.

Course, Drunk Doctor wasn’t high on her list of _firsts_ but alas.

“Have you been drinking?” she asked, warily. And very much concerned.

When they’d first become lovers, after saving the sacred Mh’aosle whale thingys from space pirates and Rose had thought maybe he’d kissed her because he’d been drugged, the Doctor had assured her there was very little in the universe that could get him drunk or have a typical drugging effect on him.

Apparently, and just their luck, the lovely junkyard planet of Restarmay had one of those _very few things, Rose._

“Nah,” he said and pulled her against him. “Didn’t have a drop to drink!”

His hardness pressed against her belly. Rose swallowed a moan and tried, really she did, to focus. Luckily (or not, depending on how one looked at it) the fear spiking through her like a million sharp little needles outweighed her current arousal.

But it was a close thing, what with the way his lips pressed to that spot on her neck that made her knees weak.

“Doctor,” she said but it came out as a breathless gasp.

Rose swallowed, pressed her lips together, and pulled back. A shudder ran through him and he violently shook his head.

“Stupid Willow Thorn,” he said.

The words sounded sane, but he still tilted drunkenly against her and he still held her intimately close to him. The Doctor was a great many things. Intimate holding in public was not one of them.

“Willow Thorn?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer, simply buried his head in her shoulder again and proceeded to kiss her bared skin. Rose glared over the Doctor’s shoulder to Jack who suddenly looked more enlightened and far less petrified.

“Willow Thorn,” he repeated and now sounded relieved.

“You two went off to find admantium, not get stuck by thorns!”

“It wasn’t adamantium,” the Doctor said against her neck. He’d managed to unbutton the first two buttons of her blouse and how the hell had she missed that? “You’re thinking of Wolverine. It was adkeelyium. For the TARDIS’s wires.”

“Yes,” Rose said and forced her head up. When had it fallen to the side? She cleared her throat and glared once more at Jack who was looking on with undisguised interest. “That.” She cleared her throat again. “I repeat,” she said through gritted teeth. _“What happened?”_

It really was unfair she was forced to have a serious conversation about stuff when the Doctor’s hands were cupping her bum and his mouth was kissing down her chest and his hips were pressed so deliciously against hers.

Oh! Down her chest! She pulled back and hastily did up her buttons with another glare at Jack. He was not getting a show.

“We had to strip it ourselves,” Jack said with a wide grin and held up a duffle bag she’d managed to miss before. “The junkyard refused to do it for us, not enough money in it. Willow Thorn isn’t a thorn; it’s an outer coating on old 48th century jumper ships. Kept them from burning up when they skipped from one end of a solar system to another.”

“And this Willow Thorn is dangerous?” Rose guessed. It certainly was dangerous to the Doctor. “Weren’t you wearing gloves?”

“Time Lord, me,” he sniffed and went right back to kissing her neck.

Rose framed his face and pulled him upright. “Doctor,” she said and waited until his beautiful blue eyes focused on hers. Not her chest. Which was heaving.

Her nipples were hard and was that her, rocking into him? Rose stilled her hips and licked her lips. She cleared her throat. Again. And tried to focus. On something that wasn’t stripping the Doctor and jumping him in the middle of a junkyard planet. With Jack watching.

“What does Willow Thorn do to you?”

He shook himself again and his hands tightened on her hips. He grinned and admitted, somewhat sheepishly, “Inner ear infection.”

Jack snorted and snickered. Rose stared. Then frowned.

“This is more than an inner ear infection,” she said. “Course your balance _is_ off. Badly.”

“Oi!” the Doctor cried indignantly and straightened. He did not, Rose noticed, remove his hands.

She was all right with that.

“I have perfect Time Lord Balance.” The Doctor did not try to show her. Instead, he leaned back in and whispered in the filthiest voice she’d ever heard from him, and she heard a lot in their bed, “I’ll show you my balance, Rose Tyler as I take you anyway you want. _Every way._ And make you scream my name. Christ, I can’t get enough of you. I want you all the time. I want to bury myself in your heat and stay there.”

He tugged her earlobe between his teeth. “Let’s go to bed.”

Best. Idea. Ever.

“Doctor,” she said instead. Or tried to. Her knees were weak and her sex throbbed and had that been her voice? Rose cleared her throat, wondered if a drink of water might help, and decided the hell with it.

“Is that Willow Thorn dangerous?”

Or not.

Because really, sick Doctor terrified her. She’d never seen him sick, not even when she’d come down with the three-day Terrillian flu that kept her curled up by the toilet, a shivering mass of helplessness.

But the Doctor had stayed with her for those three days, pulling her hair back and wiping her face after she’d been sick. Apologizing for letting the TARDIS health systems fall by the wayside and promising to see to them the second she felt better.

Offering her some drink he’d mixed to ease her symptoms and help with the vomiting. Wrapping her in a blanket and holding her when she shivered and knew she’d never be warm again. Holding an ice pack to the back of her neck when she sweated horribly and swore she’d never be cool again.

He never got sick.

“Nah,” he said against her neck. “Not dangerous.”

“Jack?” she mouthed.

Though Jack’s eyes danced with lustful amusement, he did have the good sense to think about it. Which was just as well, because in addition to the Jackie-Glare, Rose also knew the Jackie-Slap. Not that she’d ever used it, but she was her mother’s daughter.

And then Jack shrugged. “I don’t know, Rose. It’s not dangerous to any species I know, but Time Lords were myths. The only thing I know about them and Willow Thorn is that it makes them randy.”

“So not helping,” she muttered.

Right then. It was up to her. Rose Tyler to the rescue.

Shifting, though her entire body protested when she moved from the Doctor’s embrace, she slung one of his arms around her shoulder and waited while Jack propped him up from the other side.

“I’m not drunk,” the Doctor protested.

He did not, however, move away.

That could’ve had something to do with his nose buried in her hair. And his lips caressing her temple. And his hand drifting back to her bum.

Somehow, though Rose didn’t remember how, they made it back to the TARDIS. Jack promised to see to the adkeelyium. “Unless, of course, you need help finding the bedroom?”

“Nope!” the Doctor said cheerfully. “And you—” he waved his hand in Jack’s general direction but never managed to point the accusing finger Rose knew he wanted to point—“are not invited.”

Arm about his waist, Rose led him toward his bedroom. Which was more their bedroom, now, but they never spoke of it. Never spoke of how her toothbrush ended up next to his or her trainers lined up beside his boots or her clothes neatly hung next to his.

It was like moving in with someone even if they already shared a home. Strange and yet oddly comforting. Domestic, even.

The wooden door opened and Rose maneuvered them to the bed. She didn’t bother to close the door, the TARDIS would see to it. Rose suspected the Doctor had a talk with his ship once Jack had come onboard, months ago, about not leaving doors open for Jack to ‘happen to wander through’.

Which had been Jack’s excuse when he ‘happened to wander’ into the wardrobe room when the Doctor had been helping her into (out of, really) a silk sarong for the Color Festive on—

“Rose,” he breathed against her ear, hands slipping around to once more cup her bum. And pull her hard against him.

That was when they tumbled onto the bed.

“Doctor,” she tried. Really she did. It was a losing battle. “Is the Willow Thorn dangerous?”

“No, Rose. Not dangerous. I’m not inhibited at all.” His mouth caught hers. The kiss was sloppy and wet and damn near perfect.

Rose sighed into the kiss and wound her arms around his back, short nails raking through his close-cropped hair. He moaned and thrust his hips against her. Oh yes, just like that. More please.

Then the Doctor’s arms gave out and he overbalanced and fell atop her.

“Oof!” she grunted.

“Well,” came his voice from the coverlet beside her, “maybe my balance. Maybe a little. Maybe.”

Rose looked up, but the Doctor only grinned goofily at her. Inner ear infection her arse. This had all the hallmarks of drunkenness. Doctor Drunkenness.

It was kinda sexy.

He worked the button to her jeans and easily pulled them down, tossing them aside. For an uncoordinated Time Lord, the Doctor had her naked beneath him before she remembered she’d wanted to catch her breath.

And then he kissed her again, arms wobbling as he tried to keep his balance above her and hips moving against hers in a very uncoordinated rhythm. It was endearing and intimate and personal all at once.

What did breathing matter, anyway? What did anything matter when the Doctor kissed down her body, teasing her nipples and sucking greedily on her hipbone?

Or fell off the edge of the bed?

Rose blinked at the sudden loss of the Doctor’s lips and fingers and cool, hard body. Struggling onto her elbows, she looked down her body to the end of the bed. Bright blue eyes peeked over the mattress, bright and clear and somewhat confused.

“Are you all right?” she asked and scrambled to the foot of the bed.

Rose ran her fingers through his hair and over his jaw. The Doctor nuzzled her hand and hoisted himself back onto their bed.

And promptly fell on top of her.

“This Willow Thorn,” she asked, breathless, “it’s temporary, yeah?”

“Inner ear infection,” he said against her breast.

“So it’s an infection,” she managed. “And it’ll run its course?”

The Doctor pushed himself up on his hands and looked seriously down at her. “I’m fine, Rose.”

Which would’ve reassured her if he hadn’t then wobbled onto his side.

Still, he used the move to his advantage and pulled her close. His large, cool hand gentle on the back of her knee as he lifted her leg over his hip. His still clothed hip. How did that happen?

“Doctor.” Rose pulled away and stilled his hands. Why, she couldn’t remember and rocked against him. Oh. Right. “Clothes.”

“Hmm?” he asked, mouth back on hers. “What about them?”

“Undress. Now.”

How could her blood be on fire now? How could she want him so badly, so desperately that even his uncoordinated kisses made her blood burn and her heart pound and everything else but his touch and his taste and body fall away?

Because she loved him and his ungracefulness only endeared him to her all the more.

“I can’t.”

Rose blinked her eyes open. “Huh? Can’t what?”

Can’t do this? Was she hurting him? Making this infection worse? He’d never do this to her if she were sick. Rose pulled back and looked at him, but he determinately pulled her back against him. His mouth determinedly found her breast again and his tongue determinedly circled her aching nipple.

What had they been talking about? Sure, the Doctor liked to talk during sex, it was foreplay to him, but as far as Rose remembered, he hadn’t said—oh. Clothes. Right.

“You can’t undress?” she asked slowly, just to clarify they were talking about the same thing.

The Doctor raised his hand, the one not tangled in her hair, and looked at it as if it were a new and fascinating species that happened to popup directly in his path. And wasn’t he lucky that he happened to be there for said new and fascinating species to popup directly in his path?

Yeah. Rose had seen that look before.

Except never directed to his own appendage.

“I can’t seem to move my hands.”

What he really meant, Rose quickly realized as his hand found her breast and pinched her nipple before sliding over her hip to tease her wetness, was that he couldn’t move his hands either  
A) Away from her body  
B) As a single-handed unzipping of his jeans  
C) In any way to unzip his jeans (despite his single-minded focus on undressing her)  
Or the most likely  
D) All of the above

Rose voted for D. She also voted for Stripping the Doctor as Her Favorite Past Time and quickly went to work.

Boots, jumper, jeans—gone. Pants were a little harder, what with his…hardness. But Rose was always up for a challenge, especially when it meant her delicious Time Lord was spread out before her.

She kissed his inner thigh, fingers brushing his cock. He jerked into her touch and made a sound in the back of his throat that was part growl, part plea. It shot straight through her and Rose whimpered.

Disoriented Doctor should not be this sexy.

He totally was.

Flat on his back and utterly at her mercy, he didn’t seem inclined to move. Or fall off the bed. Both of which were good. Rose kissed the tip of his cock and the Doctor made that sound again, his fingers combing through her hair and playing with the ends.

How could he play with the tips of her hair and not find enough coordination to undress?

Rose licked the underside of his cock once before taking him into her mouth. What did coordination matter when he groaned her name like a prayer and shuddered beneath her?

She swallowed him as deep as she could, humming slightly to make him groan again. God she loved that sound. His hips rocked in time with her and he combed his fingers through her hair, off her sweaty cheeks and neck.

Time had no meaning. It never did when they were in bed. If Rose had asked, she knew the Doctor could always tell her, down to the 100th decimal second. Rose didn’t ask. She didn’t care.

In bed, all that mattered was them.

“Rose,” he said, that strangled sound of pure need and begging.

He didn’t like to come in her mouth; he always said he wanted to come in her. Wanted to watch her as she orgasmed, feel her clenching around him.

He pulled her up, held her close, and kissed her until she forgot how to breathe, why breath was necessary, and that the room didn’t always spin like this.

“Doctor,” she gasped. Moaned. Begged.

She rocked against him, whimpering and crying and wanting him so badly she almost—almost—forgot his lack of coordination. 

Until he tried to grasp her hips and roll her beneath him.

They rolled onto the floor instead.

Luckily, on all levels, she landed on top of the Doctor.

He didn’t seem to notice their new position. His mouth was on hers. His fingers teased her wetness. And his cock, his deliciously hard cock, pulsed between them. Rose pushed herself up, looked down into hooded blue eyes so dark with desire, leaned in for another kiss, and slowly, slowly guided him into her.

She sighed in completion when he was fully seated. Perfection. Rose paused to savor this initial feeling, the feel of him stretching her. Each time, no matter how often they made love, the first few moments when he slipped inside her were wondrous perfection.

He whimpered. No, that was her. He tried to grasp her hips and move her over him, but missed on his first attempt.

Rose laughed, a breathless sound that filled the space between them with the love she’d never dared spoken. “Doctor,” she sighed, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Beneath her hands, his hearts pounded. He returned her kiss with a sigh of her name. Then, in a move Rose couldn’t tell was intentional or not, he shifted so his back was to the bed. He was still seated deep within her, and the move rubbed all the right spots.

“Oh! Oh, yes.” Rose shuddered, pleasure a tight coil within her, desperate, begging for release. “We’re doing that again. Whatever you just did. Many times again.”

His hands cupped her bum and his mouth found hers, and suddenly Rose _needed_. She moved over him, body knowing exactly what to do, how to move. She angled her hips and took him deeper with every thrust, nails digging into his shoulders, head thrown back.

Faster and deeper and harder and yes! Her orgasm rocketed through her, sharp and swift and it consumed her and drowned her and her only anchor was the Doctor. His mouth on her shoulder, his hands on her bum, his voice calling her name like a mantra.

He thrust up, hard and fast and just as her second orgasm blasted through her with enough force to make her fingers tingle, he came. Shouted her name and buried his face in her neck and his seed in her body.

“Rose. Rose. Rose.”

She lifted her head, still breathing heavily, and met his gaze. “Doctor,” she murmured and pressed her lips to his.

“You’re shivering. Let’s get into bed.”

“No,” she protested, only remembering half the reason she wanted to protest. She loved the _after_ , the intimacy of his softening cock within her and how he held her so tenderly. As if she was the center of his universe.

Oh. Right. And she had no idea if he could move from floor to bed and not hurt himself.

“I’m fine,” he whispered into her neck. Kissed her jaw. Combed the sweaty strands of her hair away from her skin.

Had she said that aloud?

“No more tingling fingers.”

Rose’s head jerked up. “Your fingers were tingling?” She narrowed her eyes. “From before? The Willow Thorn? Or from your orgasm?”

He grinned, that happy grin that brightened his entire face and lightened his eyes. That happy grin where her stupid, stupid heart thought it saw love in those beautiful blue depths.

But neither of them ever spoke that. No, of course not. Of all the things in the universe, that, alone, was taboo.

So Rose swallowed down the words, past the lump of love and loss and hope and heartbreak that had lodged in her throat. Instead she tilted his chin and studied his eyes. They were as clear as ever, but then that had never been the problem.

“The effects wore off. I told you.” He pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “It was just an infection. Had to run its course.”

“And making love helped it do that?” Rose asked suspiciously.

“Hmm,” he hummed and, cock still buried in her, her legs still pressed tight to his hips, stood.

Oh, yes, this was the Time Lord Dexterity she knew and loved. With proficient skill, the Doctor lowered her gently onto the bed.

“Making love to you always helps,” he whispered.

And that look was back. The soft, open look that told her the words he never spoke. And when he kissed her, tender and slow and indulgent, Rose thought maybe words weren’t necessary.

Or, for that matter, coordination.

“Rose,” he breathed and moved slowly within her. “My Rose.”

“My Doctor,” she promised and wondered—hoped—he understood all she hadn’t said.

All her love and promise and always.

Forever.


End file.
